The Hummingbird (43 page)

Anna righted the chair and sat down on it, facing the running track. She could just make out the parking area; Anna could see the faint contour of her car. With a pair of binoculars, it would have been easy to watch people running round the track, she thought. Was the deckchair here by accident? Could this have been the killer’s vantage point?

Anna carefully examined the area around the chair but couldn’t see any sweet wrappers or anything else of interest. She took the chair with her to give it to the forensics team. Perhaps they would be able to find some fingerprints on it.

On her way back Anna stopped at the Pollaris’ house, but it was as deserted as the running track. Maria had gone to her mother’s house in Jyväskylä. I hope everything’s okay with the baby, she thought as she sat at the end of the Pollaris’ driveway for a moment and let her eyes press shut, almost falling asleep.

Again she was woken by the sound of her telephone.

It was Rauno’s wife, whom Anna hadn’t yet met. Nina Forsman was calling from the hospital. She was so hysterical that Anna could barely make out a word. She understood that something serious had happened to Rauno. Anna shook the sleep from her body with a cigarette, and as soon as she had smoked it, she set off for the hospital.

Inside the hospital, everything was white and so bright that it hurt Anna’s head. Floral-print curtains in the emergency room attempted to soften the feel of being in an institution. Rauno was lying on a metal-framed bed, linked up to numerous tubes and monitors. His face was hidden behind a large oxygen mask. A petite woman sat next to the bed. She jumped up as Anna stepped into the room and offered a delicate hand. She’s like a bird, the thought flashed through Anna’s mind, not like a mouse at all.

‘Hello, I’m Rauno’s wife – Nina. I don’t think we’ve met.’

‘Fekete Anna. Sorry we had to meet like this. Where are the girls?’

‘I took them to my mother’s. I haven’t told them anything yet. I don’t know what to say. They’re still so little,’ Nina agonised.

‘The doctors here can give you advice on what to do,’ Anna tried to comfort her. ‘There’s no rush. They don’t need to hear it straight away.’

‘Yes,’ Nina whimpered. ‘You’re right.’

‘What happened?’

‘He hit an elk. It’s a miracle that he’s still alive.’

‘What’s his condition?’

‘I don’t know exactly. The doctors don’t know. He’s got some fractures in his right thigh and he’s broken several ribs.’

‘What about his head?’

Nina began to weep.

‘He might not…’ she stammered. ‘He might never wake up. Or if he does, he won’t be the same Rauno that we all know.’

Anna began to tremble. The room felt cold. Was there a window open somewhere? Anna examined the windows, but there was no way of opening them. What a ridiculous thought – an open window in an emergency room where people are fighting for their lives. Rauno’s struggle seemed peaceful. He was calm, as though he was sleeping off his exhaustion. Anna realised that she wished she was lying there instead of him. She felt like removing the tubes and waking him up, ordering him to go home and sort out whatever had gone on between him and his wife. Anna would lie down there herself, there beneath the warm blankets; she’d pull on the faded hospital gown, place the oxygen mask over her mouth, connect the sensors to her chest, head and fingers, insert the drip into her own arm and drift into a liberating slumber. What a wonderful state. Only death could be better than this.

Thankfully Rauno didn’t look like he was dying. The steady beeping on the monitor showed that his heart was beating evenly and kept alive the glimmer of hope that he might just pull through this. His face had been spared the worst of the damage. That was something.

‘And I’d just decided to get a divorce,’ Nina said all of a sudden.

Anna snapped back to the real world, yanked herself into that state of consciousness needed to communicate with people, to listen to them and comfort them, the state she no longer had the strength to deal with. She didn’t know what to say, and decided not to say anything.

‘I doubt it’ll be possible now,’ Nina continued.

‘Take things one step at a time,’ said Anna.

‘For the children’s sake. After this, dealing with a divorce would be too much for them.’

‘For them, yes, but for you too.’

‘What can I tell them?’ Nina continued sobbing. ‘How can I bring them here to see their father like this?’

Anna took Nina’s hand and pressed it gently. She didn’t have any answers, in any language.

‘Why did you call me?’ she asked eventually. ‘I mean, we don’t know one another…’

‘I don’t know,’ Nina replied. ‘Was there … Is there anything going on between you two?’ she asked abruptly.

‘What? Not at all. Don’t even think that,’ said Anna.

Nina gave a cautious smile as tears trickled down her cheeks.

34

ANNA
DROVE
TO
RAJAPURO
and parked outside Bihar’s apartment block. All her fatigue had gone; she felt like a machine that worked simply by pushing a button. Though it was getting late, she decided to go in and have a few words with the family, just to remind them that she was still keeping an eye on them. Perhaps she needed the reminder more than the Chelkin family. Her motivation had begun to dwindle as the days grew shorter, and on more than a few occasions Anna had resolved to give up checking on Bihar. Yet she always came back. It was like an irritating disease that wouldn’t go away. Christmas would be the absolute deadline for this farce. If nothing had happened before that, she would call it a day. And still she had the niggling worry that she might never be able to let go.

The windows at the Chelkin household were as dark as the residents’ eyes. It seemed that there was no one at home, but Anna decided to give it a try nonetheless. She stepped inside. The walls in the stairwell were covered in graffiti tags. She rang the Chelkins’ doorbell, but nobody answered. Where were they? There was generally always somebody at home. As she returned to her car, Anna saw a patrol car gliding from the car park back on to the street. This time she was certain who was driving.

What the hell was he doing here?

The same thing she was doing?

She called Esko.

They agreed to meet back at the station. ‘I thought you weren’t going to get involved in checking on the darkies unless you had to,’ she snapped at him.

‘Maybe I did have to.’

‘Tell me what’s going on!’

‘I’m not telling you anything.’

‘Oh, here we go,’ she shouted. ‘Listen, don’t pretend to be all matey with me if you don’t mean it. You don’t need to suck up to me, whatever Virkkunen says. I can’t deal with this!’

A rage whipped up inside her bringing tears to her eyes. She felt like a child whose trust had been betrayed.

‘Calm down! I want to
show
you something, not tell you.’

Esko took Anna down to the archives where video recordings of police interviews were stored. He took a laptop from one of the cupboards and set it up on the table.

‘I watched this yesterday. It’s the interview with Bihar.’

‘Why? Why did you watch it?’ Anna was puzzled.

‘I saw you in the car park outside their house back in September while I was out on another case. I realised you were traipsing out there all the time checking on the family, but I decided to let it go. To be honest, you were pissing me off so much back then, I planned on saving the information until I found an opportunity to use it.’

‘Damn it, Esko.’

‘Once an old bastard, always an old bastard, right? Now shut up and listen. A while ago I started wondering why you refused to drop the case, like we agreed. You’ll burn yourself out with all that extra work. I guessed there had to be something suspicious about the Chelkins after all. So, for my own peace of mind, I came down here and watched that interview again and … Well, see for yourself.’

Anna watched Bihar on the screen as she waited. She looked lonely.

The girl was glancing around nervously and biting her nails. Those nails had been varnished many times, the multi-coloured layers of varnish now flaked and worn. They looked terrible. Then Anna walked into the room.

Gosh, I look stern, she thought. I should have tried a milder
approach, more motherly and protective. Would Bihar have opened up more if I’d done that?

The interview began, and Anna remembered every word, as though they had been spoken only a moment ago; that same sense of desperate anger as the girl recanted her story and protected her father filled Anna all over again. She didn’t want to watch this, to relive that frustration, her own failure over and over.

‘Just take it easy and watch,’ said Esko as he noticed Anna squirming. ‘Watch very closely, right to the end.’

Anna saw herself bringing the interview to an end and standing up to leave the room.

Bihar lagged behind.

Oh yes, I remember that, she thought. I wondered what she was doing. Was there still something she wanted to say? She didn’t seem to want to leave the room.

And suddenly, perhaps on the screen for no more than a second, Anna saw it.

She is standing at the open door; the corridor looks like an illuminated cave behind her. Bihar is standing by the interview table, pulling up the long trench coat covering her body. She looks up, directly at the camera. Her eyes look so empty, so dead, and yet they seem to be imploring anyone watching. She opens her coat, and it’s as though the camera catches a sound and cries for help.

It was written on her T-shirt. White painted letters in rough brushstrokes against the black fabric of the T-shirt. A simple word.

H
ELP
.

Anna’s eyes blurred and her head started buzzing so much that she could feel the veins in her temples bulging. When was the last time I saw Bihar? I was there today, but I didn’t see her; there was nobody at home. Why didn’t I notice her cry for help earlier on? Why haven’t I watched these tapes again? That’s why we record them of course, so that we can analyse them, investigate them, watch them over and over. I haven’t done that. How long is it since we conducted that
interview? That was over two months ago. When was the last time I saw Bihar?

I can’t remember.

Panic consumed her. She gripped the armrests on her chair and closed her eyes tightly. It was coming now, the emotional collapse that had been knocking at her door for a long time on all those sleepless nights. She couldn’t cope with this. This was the final straw.

‘Take it easy,’ said Esko. ‘Calm, now.’

‘I’ve really screwed this up,’ she said.

‘Then it’s a good job you’ve got a partner who’s alert enough to notice these things and sort them out,’ he said and took Anna by the hand. He rubbed Anna’s hand in his fingers, yellowed by nicotine, until she gradually began to calm down.

The game wasn’t over yet. She had feared the worst from the outset and had regularly shown the family her continued presence. Two months had passed and nothing had happened, so in all probability everything was fine now too. They wouldn’t dare do anything, not under the constant scrutiny of the police. And now Esko was here to support her, the racist, drunken old bastard. Anna started to laugh as relief shimmered within her. Nothing bad could possibly have happened.

‘Pease pudding, hot and cold,’
whispered Esko, tickling the back of Anna’s hand.

‘What?’

‘Haha! Finally something our language genius has never heard of!’

‘You can’t make pudding from peas.’

‘It’s a kind of porridge.’

‘Ugh. I’ve never understood Finns’ obsession with porridge. Disgusting stuff, if you ask me.’

‘Porridge is tasty and healthy,’ said Esko, almost offended. ‘I have a bowl of oat porridge every morning; can’t start the day without it.’

‘Right. Don’t you mean barley porridge? The liquid kind?’

‘Shut it!’

‘We have to get out to Bihar’s place. I’m not sure when I last saw her. It might be as long as a week.’

‘You’re right, we have to go there, but first we have to plan things carefully,’ said Esko. ‘Have you heard the saying “less haste, more speed”?’

‘Of course I have. But enough of the pea porridge, okay?’

It was already 8.30 p.m. by the time Anna, Esko, Sari and a squadron from Patrol, as well as the interpreter who had been at the initial interviews, whose private number Anna had kept just in case, had assembled outside Bihar Chelkin’s apartment. Everything had been carefully planned, the Child Protection Agency had been informed and a team of social workers were on standby.